Storm Windows

It’s my favorite autumn ritual, and I look forward to it every year. The clocks get turned back, the temperature drops, my wife puts flannel sheets on the bed, and I get the storm windows down from the attic. There are 15 in all and I have a routine. It takes a little over two hours one morning, and I’m done.

Part of the allure is a sentimental memory, a little sad and a little nostalgic. Growing up in the suburbs of Chicago, our house had six windows on the second floor, and my father would put these old-fashioned and very heavy storm windows up every fall. He hated it. He had to climb a ladder carrying these wood-and-glass windows, then fit them into the frame and bolt them down. He did this by himself until I was probably 14 years old, and then it was my turn. I didn’t hate it, I was just scared to death I might drop a window, or fall to my death. Laughable, because years later I returned to the home I grew up in to find the second floor is just a few feet off the ground – I wouldn’t even have broken a bone. But it seemed much bigger then …

Here in Jersey the day comes, I climb up to the attic, bring the storm windows down 3-at-a-time, and clean them individually: I use Windex and newsprint. For some reason, newsprint gets all the grime and smudges off of glass better than any towel. I do it by myself. It’s an intense 120 minutes of mindless busy work: the windows get cleaned; the screen comes out, it’s examined for damage, and placed in a stack; the storm window goes in, is screwed into place and tightened, and the process is repeated. All the while I am lost in thought, reviewing the past year and how life has changed since I put these same storm windows up a year ago …

As with most families, we had our share of ups and downs. The blessings far outnumber the adversities. Our oldest son played on an undefeated state-championship high school football team, graduated with honors and joined Americorps (which has been an eye-opener for him: working for the government is not what he thought it would be); our youngest son got lead roles in musical theater all summer, started taking piano lessons and immediately began to improve, but the rigorous schedule in theaters, church, music programs before and after school weakened his voice to the extent we had to see a doctor (he’s fine – his vocal chords are exhausted); my wife got a new job in which she is flourishing; I continue to find work in every venue imaginable, though my “rejection pile” has grown has well. Another year has passed. The storm windows go up and the screen windows come down.

I am fully aware this is mundane and more than a little precious. There are real problems in the country, and people have critical issues going on their lives that relate to their health, their jobs, and their day-to-day existence. If you don’t have problems, just wait.

We have a new president. We come to the end of 2008 and to the end of a decade, where immense changes are taking place so rapidly that it’s impossible to keep up. Everything in daily life gets a little harder and more complex.

Me? I’m just putting up storm windows getting ready for what I know is coming.

Taylor Mason is a comedian, a musician, a ventriloquist and a writer (He can’t seem to hold a real job). He has headlined every major comedy club in the United States, and has played Carnegie Hall and The Sydney Opera House in Australia. He has been part of two Emmy-winning television programs, which include his children’s TV show: “Taylor’s Attic.” Taylor works a mind-boggling 200 nights a year, in front of every kind of audience, and has managed to stay married for the past 22 years to his wife, Marsia. They have two teen-aged sons and live in New Jersey (the only state in America that uses air freshener . . . outdoors).